One of a Kind
by TheToxicInterest
Summary: "You didn't catch my eye at first, but now you're all I ever think about." Vito's sick of the usual girls, but he knows that Zoey only has eyes for Mike. [Mike/Zoey, one-sided Vito/Zoey.]


**Don't ask me why I thought of this pairing, because even I don't know. I guess I just wanted to show another side to Vito.**

**Shipping: Mike/Zoey, one-sided Vito/Zoey.**

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><p>People think I'm stupid. I know it. I can tell. Yeah, I don't know a damn thing about art or books or anything, but you know what I'm really good at? You know what my best subject is? LIFE. I know how to <em>live<em>, and when you live, sometimes you gotta sacrifice.

I only get so much time out, so I need to make it count. I've never spent my time out "front" by reading hundred year old books or watching stupid geeky movies. That's never been my thing. I've focused on meeting people, experiencing as much as I can― but maybe I shouldn't.

But when I mention that to the others, they get scared.

All I say is, "Maybe I should read more." One freaking sentence, and everyone freaks out. Like, they get legitimately _worried_ that I've got something wrong with me.

And there _is_ something wrong, but I don't tell them none of that. They won't be able to help anyway.

"I meant I should read more _Playboys_," I correct myself, chuckling like it was a joke. Everybody looks relieved, whatever crisis they were expecting now avoided. Svetlana keeps staring at me like she knows something's up, but she keeps her mouth shut for a while...

Until we're alone.

"Vito, vhat is wrong?" she whispers.

"Nothin'," I shrug. "What could be wrong when you're this sexy?" I start flexing, staring at my own muscles so she thinks it's all a game to me.

On anyone else, it would work. Svetlana and I were the first personalities to appear besides Mike, so we've always known each other better than anyone else. She sees right through my jokes, looking worried for me in a way that I can't fucking stand.

"Vito..." she warns.

"I don't need ya pity, Lana," I tell her casually. "I'm fine. Mike's happy, an' that's all that you should worry 'bout."

"So you are not happy?"

I don't know how to respond to that. Before I can turn it into a joke, she goes on. "Is zhis because Anne Maria does not ahnderstand zhe disorder?"

"Why does everything gotta be about fuckin' Anne Maria?" I roll my eyes. "We were a thing for a while, but I knew it couldn't last. Yeah, she sorta flipped out and thought I was dumpin' her for―" Something stops me from getting out your name. Probably because you're the cause of my problem.

I try to explain myself without bringing you up. "Anne Maria ain't smart enough to get me. Err, well, she doesn't get _us._ That's her problem. Besides, Mike is happy with..." Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_, why can't I say your name?

"So you are not hurt by her?" Svetlana makes sure. I don't know if she means you or Anne Maria, but either way, I squash it.

"Nah, I'm fine. The Vito can't be held down by no broad." I laugh it off.

I don't know if she believes me, but either way, she lets it die.

I should read more, I really should. You've always got some book in your hands, so maybe we'd have more to talk about when I'm out...

Ha! Listen to me, talking about this like we could ever have a real conversation. Every time I try to talk to you, I just end up hurting your feelings somehow. I'll tell you that you ain't so pretty, or that you're annoying me, and it's fucking true but I shouldn't _say it._ I know how to live, but I don't know how to talk to you.

I've tried to be smart, you know. I pick up books you love off the floor when you're away. I try to read them. I swear to God, you don't own a single book that's written in English. I've tried to find a dictionary, but then it feels more like homework than getting to know you. So I get pissed off, because I suck at school, and I always end up throwing the stupid thing against the wall. That's why you have dents in your bedroom walls, but I'll never tell you that.

I'll never tell you any of this.

I'll never tell you how you make me feel, because it's fucking wrong. You're Mike's girlfriend, so you might as well be... I don't know, my brother's girl or something. You could word it better, you're the smart one. You're the one who reads. No matter how you look at it, though, he saw you first.

And he's the one you're in love with.

I don't understand art too much either, you know. I saw this one drawing you did in that notebook of yours, that picture of a pigeon standing in the alley of some crowded city. It looked scared― I don't know how you make a bird look scared, but maybe I'm remembering it wrong or something. The whole picture was black and grey. There's probably a reason for that. Or maybe not, I don't know. For all I know, you ran out of markers.

You know what's funny? I didn't always think of you this way. You were just some random chick to me, some generic girl who was only cute in the right light. It was Mike who fell in love with you, Mike who asked you out, Mike who brought you into all of our lives.

But right now, God, I wish it'd been me. I'm here right now, even though you can't see it. Mike is in control of the body, talking to you, making you laugh, but I can see it all...

I was too focused on Anne Maria to _really_ see you. You didn't catch my eye at first, but now you're all I ever think about.

You're smiling at me. No, that's wrong― you're smiling at _Mike_, not me. It only _looks_ like you're smiling at me, but hey, a guy can dream. If I'm gonna sacrifice, I might as well dream.

You hold my hand and your eyes are so soft, and he tells you something he's never told anyone but the other personalities. And you _understand._ You don't look confused or freaked out, you don't tell me to shut up and kiss you, you're nothing like the hundreds of chicks I've been with. They all look alike, dress alike, talk alike―

Not you. You're one of a kind.

Maybe that's why I fell for you, because you're so different. You _get_ us. You listen to our problems and you try to help us through them, no fear, no confusion. You'll do anything for me. As long as I'm here with you, as long as I can hold your hand and smile back at you, you'll go to the ends of the earth to keep us together.

There I fucking go again, talking about "me" when I mean "Mike"...

"Are you okay?" you ask, and you seem so concerned. It's like one of those psychic bonds, like you can fucking _see_ when I'm pissed off or sad.

"Yeah, I'm great..." Mike trails off. "Huh, weird. I don't know, maybe someone inside is upset about something."

Oh, one of us is upset, all right. Not that he'll ever know.

"Is there something I should do?"

You know what you can do for me, Zoey? Stop being so fucking compassionate! Just stop it! Stop it all! Stop being so goddamn _sweet._ Stop being so goddamn _perfect. _And most of all, s_top giving me reasons to like you._

"No, it'll be fine," he answers. Thank God he can't hear the things I'm thinking.

He goes back to watching the movie, but you lays her head on my― _his_ shoulder. He turns to grin at you; you give him that perfect smile back, looking up at him with those _eyes._ All I wanna do is cup your face in my hands, give you a quick kiss, and just be done with it. I just wanna know how you'd react. I want to see what your face would look like if _I_ kissed you, me, not Mike. Would you scream and push me away? Call me a pervert?

Maybe you would kiss me back... No, of course not. Never. Not me.

Mike is focused on the movie, but my eyes are on you. My eyes are always on you. Too smart for me to talk to, too sweet for me to be nice to, too good for me to be with. Too perfect to ever love me back.

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><p><strong>Please leave a review! Reviews are loved!<strong>


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